


faster, higher, stronger

by emullz



Series: swim is love, swim is life [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Olympics, Alternate Universe - Swimming, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 17:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7942891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emullz/pseuds/emullz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>basically bellamy and clarke are olympic swimmers and they go for gold (complete with feelings, childhood nostalgia, and lots of unnecessary bellamy angst)</p><p>this is kind of a standalone fic, but i promise it will make more sense if you go read the other parts of the series first!! so go forth and read whatever you want, i'm not going to stop you. just don't say i didn't have a warning that parts of this might be confusing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	faster, higher, stronger

**Author's Note:**

> title from the olympic motto, because i can't think of anything. special thanks to simone manuel for hitting me with those feels and for myself for procrastinating so long the olympics are straight up over.

The first thing Bellamy did upon his arrival to the Olympic Village was throw up in the toilet. It was a fancy toilet, and it was in Rio, which was exciting, but it was filled with a substance formerly known as Bellamy’s lunch, which made it just a little less exciting. Bellamy flushed it and then wandered out into the hallways of his building to find someone other than the faces of Good Morning America to tell. 

“I’m nervous,” Bellamy said when he found Clarke in one of the common rooms. He would have said more, but the line of athletes behind Octavia (who was braiding Clarke’s hair) weren’t exactly confidantes of his. 

“That’s okay, so am I,” Clarke said offhandedly, motioning for the next girl in line to sit in front of Bellamy. His hands moved automatically to weave the dark strands in front of him into a french braid as Clarke kept talking. “We shouldn’t be, though. We’ve done international meets before.” 

“Yeah.” Bellamy tied the braid he was working on and another girl moved to sit in front of him. “But this just feels more important.” 

Clarke snorted a little, then caught herself when Octavia yanked on her hair. “Just because these are the Olympics doesn’t mean they have to mean more than anything else we do. Who says this meet matters more than any of the other ones?” 

It was Bellamy’s turn to snort. “Babe. The Olympics. They’re a big deal.” Even as he began to say it out loud, he began to feel nauseous. “There’s rings, and all the TV shows take a monthlong break. People actually care how fast we swim.” 

“I’m going to say it again: who says this meet matters more?” Octavia finished Clarke’s braid and practically shoved her out of the way, sending a pointed look that encouraged Bellamy to stand up as well. “I honestly felt like more was riding on the meets in high school than this one.” 

“Can you stop talking about this like it’s not a problem?” Bellamy said hotly as he started to walk back to his room, Clarke on his heels. “We’re in the Olympic Village, we’re representing our country in front of the whole world, and you’re saying it doesn’t mean anything more than a high school dual meet?” 

The two of them had ended up in Bellamy’s room, the offending toilet safely hidden behind the bathroom door. Clarke stood calmly, watching Bellamy gesture wildly at the furniture and the Ralph Lauren polo hanging on his closet door. “Look, I don’t want to fight with you. You’re right, we’re in this beautiful room in this crazy city, and right now, I want to enjoy this moment.” She then pressed a kiss to Bellamy’s nose, and then his cheek, and then the spot where the slope of his jaw met his ear. “Do you know what’s great about the Olympics?” she asked into Bellamy’s neck. 

“What?” he breathed. His nails dug crescents into her hips. 

“There are fifty thousand condoms reserved only for Olympic level athletes just sitting around, waiting to be used. And we don’t have to compete until tomorrow.” 

Bellamy grinned and picked Clarke up. She immediately wrapped her legs around his hips. “Do you think they printed rings on them?” 

“We’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”

\- -

Bellamy’s team sent him off to the ready room with a big cheer and a couple of slaps on the back. It was more fanfare than he was used to before a meet, and he blamed the fact that he couldn’t settle down on the wild and patriotic fervor that he’d been a part of when the days races had just begun. But the feeling persisted during Bellamy’s attempts to get himself ready and calm, even as he sat with his head in his hands to block out everyone else who was waiting for their Olympic debut right alongside him. 

Octavia had said right before the race that he just had to treat it like practice and he’d qualify no problem, but that was proving to be a monumental task. In Bellamy’s mind, the Olympics meant too much, and he’d come too far to let the moment feel like another day in the pool. But that thought, the one that meant this was the most important swim of his life, got his heart beating fast and wouldn’t let it stop. 

Nerves weren’t new to Bellamy, and he did his best to deal with them like he always did before a race: ignore them. These ones, however, were impossible to ignore. His adrenaline was pumping, and it set his blood roaring in his ears far too loud for his brain to have any input, and it stayed that way even as he dove into the pool. 

Bellamy was used to feeling the water rush against his skin and seal a sense of calm over him, ever since he was six and started racing in meets with actual timers. It went like this: sit alone, breathe deeply to keep the contents of the stomach inside where they belonged, and then allow the water to take care of the rest. But this time there was no steely calm, no moving through the water like a fish. Bellamy fought for every stroke, allowing his timing to go to hell as he sucked in air whenever he could. By the final turn, he’d given up on any semblance of the grace he usually possessed and used the brute strength he’d gained through years of hard work to force himself through the pool. 

He touched the wall in fourth place, looked up at his team, and saw the shock on all of their faces. When he yanked off his goggles and shook the hand of the guy next to him, the three time Olympian from Denmark smiled, and Bellamy sensed something predatory. “You swim well,” he said. “For a rookie.” 

\- -

They kept replaying the race and his interview on the damn TV. “Blake, who was a favorite to medal in the 200 meter butterfly tomorrow night, barely squeaked out a spot in the finals. After a disappointing performance, here was what he had to say.” 

Bellamy hated them. The reporters and their stupid microphones, the way they shoved their way into your space when you still couldn’t catch your breath after a swim. Bellamy hated them, and he hated himself. 

“Yeah, it was a disappointing race. I think that because this is the Olympics, people expect a lot, and it’s a lot of pressure to carry around, and because of that something’s off. I hope to sort that out and come back stronger tomorrow.” 

The reporter opened her stupid mouth again and Bellamy had to try very hard not to put his fist through the screen. “Now you and distance swimmer Clarke Griffin have been romantically involved since you were teammates in high school. Do you think-“

“I’m going to stop you right there. Clarke’s doing great. She was born for this, and I’m so proud of her, but this isn’t really about her. I dove into the pool, I swam poorly, and I climbed out. That’s all there was to it. Don’t try to pin this on something that-“

The TV snapped off abruptly and Clarke appeared across the room holding the clicker. “Watching that again isn’t going to help.” 

“I don’t need help,” Bellamy said sullenly. 

Clarke raised her eyebrows in the way that meant she knew he was smarter than the idiotic statement that had just come out of his mouth, and Bellamy let go of his defiant posture. As his shoulders slumped, Clarke plopped herself next to him on the couch. “What do you do before every race?” 

“What does that have to do with my terrible mood?” Bellamy said in a last ditch attempt to get out of the impending serious conversation. Clarke saw right through it. 

“You of all people should know that pre-race routines can make or break a swim, now shut up and answer my question.” 

“Mentally prepare.” Bellamy paused, waited for Clarke to continue. When she didn’t, he grudgingly conceded. “I sit by myself and try to push down the nerves.” 

“What else in life makes you that nervous?” For all the scary interrogation vibes Clarke was giving off, she was also stroking the back of Bellamy’s hand with her thumb. 

“I don’t know…” another pointed look, and this time Clarke squeezed his hand. “I guess when I got my college letter, and when O got hers. And the time she crashed her motorcycle into that pickup truck. And when I asked you out to dinner the first time, which was dumb because we made out in your basement the night before and you told me you loved me, so it wasn’t like you were going to say no. Seriously, what does this have to do with anything?”

“I think, sometimes, you forget I know you better than you know yourself,” Clarke said. Bellamy couldn’t tell whether or not that was a good thing, but he couldn’t deny it was true. “And we both forget about the scrawny little kid who used to fight with me for lane leader every day because he heard it somewhere that athletes were the only ones that ever made it out of his neighborhood.” 

Bellamy remembered watching the story on TV, listening to his mother scoff at the boy holding the gold medal as he talked about how he came from nothing. “He talks about how he ‘made it out,’ but all he did was get some charity scholarship to a lousy college,” she said. “I’ll tell you what, there’s only gold medals for sports. There isn’t any for hard work, or raising children. It’s bullshit.” 

The memory wasn’t a good one, but it was as good as they got and Bellamy found himself smiling because of it. “I wanted a gold medal for Octavia. I didn’t know about Olympic Glory and all that shit, I just knew his coach looked proud and I wanted her to look at me like that.” 

“You had a bad race,” Clarke said, and then she had let go of Bellamy’s hand and climbed into his lap. “And it’s because you’re putting the pressure of every last minute you’ve ever worked into this one event. And it’s just not that important.” 

“I’ve been dreaming of these Games since before they were in Rio,” Bellamy admitted. It felt wrong to say it out loud.

Clarke grinned. “I always dreamed of the 2012 ones, but then again I always was a little bit of an overachiever.” 

“How are you so calm?” Bellamy asked desperately. “How is this just another race to you?” 

“I dreamed of being in the Olympics too. Everyone who’s here did. But I never dreamed that my life would be going so great, and that I’d have teammates, and friends, and you. I never could’ve dreamed you up. And so if I lose, I’ll still have all of that. I’ll just add Olympic Gold Medalist to the list of things I’m not going to be, shelf it in between Unicorn Rider and First Woman on Mars. And then, the world will keep turning.” 

Bellamy pulled Clarke’s head into the hollow that stretched from his neck to his shoulder. “I wish it was that easy,” he whispered into her hair, but he didn’t think she heard. 

\- -

Bellamy had reacquainted himself with the toilet several times before he had to leave for his 200 fly final. Clarke had kissed him good luck before she went to get ready for her swim, and the team had sent him off with slightly less enthusiasm then before in respect for his somewhat diminished potential to medal. Bellamy was ready to be okay, to go into the ready room and do his usual routine and then hope to God everything turned out all right when he hit the water, until Octavia came sprinting up to him, braids flying behind her. 

“Clarke told me what happened,” she said wildly. “What you said about the gold medal.” 

Bellamy fiddled with the straps on his goggles and waited for Octavia to respond. “What do you want me to say, O?”

“I don’t want it.”

Bellamy opened his mouth, and then closed it and tried to let what Octavia had just said sink in. “I don’t really understand-“

“You heard me,” Octavia said forcefully. “I don’t want it. I don’t need it.”

“I still don’t get it,” Bellamy said, almost helplessly.

“Clarke talked to me because she was worried about you, and she told me about what’s going on before your races. And I understand how you feel. I felt that way for a long time, like if we didn’t swim perfectly in every race we’d have to go back to that shit house and work ourselves to death like Mom. I used to get so worked up I’d throw up.” 

Bellamy started. “You used to throw up?”

The lines around Octavia’s face softened. “Yeah, all the time. And then I figured out that if I lost, this life that we built for ourselves wouldn’t disappear. We got out. You got me out, and you raised me too fucking stubborn to go back in. I’m going to win my own gold medal, and you can keep yours.” 

“So you’re saying you want me to go out there and lose?” 

Octavia rolled her eyes. “No. I’m saying that you should go out there and win for your crazy hot girlfriend, and your fucked up country, and for yourself, because you deserve it. Sound good?” 

It took Bellamy a minute to respond, and he realized suddenly it was because he was having trouble breathing. Not because of nerves, but because he could feel a sob trying to claw its way out of his throat. “Yeah,” he managed painfully. “Sounds good.” 

And with that, Bellamy pushed open the door behind him and walked into a room full of the best swimmers in the world. And this time, he didn’t have to wait for the water to feel the unshakable calm settle over him. 

A week later, Bellamy walked out of the Olympic pool with 4 medals weighing down his neck. They were heavier than they looked, and Bellamy wouldn’t be wearing them if NBC wasn’t making him. But they had him sitting down on a really nice couch, and they fed him during the commercial breaks, so he didn’t have much to complain about. 

“So, Bellamy, how does it feel to be an Olympic Gold Medalist?” The reporter ended with a smile that left Bellamy wondering how many hours a day he spent whitening his teeth. 

Bellamy knew from doing enough press that if he kept it cliché, they’d leave him more or less alone. “It’s a huge honor. It leaves you kind of speechless, actually.”

“Now, you were having some trouble at the beginning of the Games. Can you explain to us how you moved past that?” 

The question forced Bellamy to look at the reporter as more than just a bright-toothed microphone, and he was surprised to see an empathetic looking guy. “I just remember feeling like all the weight that comes with being an Olympian was too heavy. But luckily I had my sister and my… Clarke. And they straightened me out quick enough for me to swim fast when it counted.” 

“Yes, you have quite a history with some of the members of Team USA. What is that like?” 

Bellamy breathed a sigh of relief that he could stop talking about himself, and jumped on the chance to redirect conversation to Octavia, who basked in the spotlight. “I couldn’t be prouder of the whole team, but Octavia especially. She’s better than I’ll ever be, and I’m crazy happy this experience is something we get to do together.” 

The topic of Clarke was carefully avoided, and the reporter obviously noticed. To Bellamy’s dismay, he pounced on it rather quickly. “You and Clarke were co-captains of your high school team, and you’ve been involved ever since. Does this experience remind you at all of that one?” 

Bellamy found it hard enough to talk about what he felt regarding Clarke to her face, let alone to NBC and all its viewers. “Well, we’re not in high school anymore, which makes everything infinitely less complicated.” He paused for laughter and tried desperately to think of something else to say. “In all seriousness, I can’t imagine a moment being this important to me without her there, and these medals are no exception. Who knows, maybe I’ll melt one down and turn it into our wedding rings.” 

The pause when on a beat too long, just long enough for Bellamy to realize what he had said. “Well thanks for talking to us, Bellamy, and I’ll see you all after the break for some news on beach volleyball!” 

Clarke was waiting for him back at the Village, half asleep on one of the couches. She looked up groggily when Bellamy burst in. “Are we actually getting married?” she asked through a yawn. 

“If you don’t mind,” Bellamy responded, frozen in the doorway. 

“Yeah, okay. Now come be the little spoon.”

**Author's Note:**

> hi!!! it's me. it's cool if you forgot who that is, because i haven't posted in like 12 years (sirius is out of azkaban and i'm still sitting on my ass, not posting anything). i had a very interesting spring and summer that was rough for a number of reasons and none of the words i typed seemed good enough. but what the hell, gotta break through that wall somehow. 
> 
> so this is the much requested bellamy and clarke olympic swimverse. i hope that you enjoyed it, let me know either way. you can always come hang out with me on my tumblr (emullz or officialbellarketrash- i have 2 bc i am greedy it's whatever) 
> 
> thanks for reading!!! much love


End file.
